When I started my journey toward becoming an airline pilot, I had just gotten out of a bad breakup. I wanted a meaningful, respectable, high-paying career, and becoming a pilot came to mind. I watched YouTube videos about what it’s like to be an airline pilot and followed pilot influencers on Instagram.

I’ll admit it — I was influenced.

I began by taking a discovery flight, which is basically a flight where you get to feel what it’s like to have the controls and actually fly. I enjoyed it, so I started flight training.

At the time, there was a lot of talk about a “pilot shortage.” Flight schools were heavily pushing the idea that now was the time to become a pilot. Looking back, that hype was misleading. It was a gimmick used by flight schools to lure students in — and unfortunately, I fell for it.

The Reality of Becoming an Airline Pilot

To become an airline pilot, you have to “level up” in stages.

The first level is getting a private pilot license, which means you can fly for fun or as a hobby.

The next level is instrument flying, which is more complex and technical. This is where you learn instrument approaches, flying in zero-visibility conditions, and advanced navigation systems. This is where a lot of people quit.

The third level is commercial pilot, which allows you to get paid to fly and manage more complex procedures.

And the final boss level is ATP (Airline Transport Pilot). This requires at least 1,500 flight hours and a multi-engine rating.

Going from commercial pilot to airline pilot is one of the biggest challenges. You might be thinking, Wait, if you’re a commercial pilot, can’t you already fly “commercially”? Not really.

By the time you obtain private, instrument, and commercial licenses, you usually have around 250–300 flight hours. That’s barely enough to qualify for most high-paying flying jobs. The only real options at that stage are “low-time” pilot jobs — flight instructing, aerial surveying, banner towing, skydiving, things like that.

To reach 1,500 hours, the most common path is becoming a flight instructor.

Where It Broke

For me, I earned my private, instrument, and commercial pilot licenses. It took about two and a half years and a very hefty financial investment.

In October 2025, I attempted to get my flight instructor license — and I failed the exam.

Since then, I haven’t flown an airplane.

I failed my private, instrument, and commercial exams on the first try too. So failing the CFI exam — my fourth major checkride — felt like a slap in the face. It was exhausting. Defeating.

That failure forced me to ask some hard questions.

Was this really what I wanted?
Was becoming an airline pilot actually my dream?

And honestly… I can’t confidently say yes.

Why I Stayed Too Long

I think I fell into the sunk cost fallacy — the idea that you keep going because you’ve already invested so much time and money, even when deep down you know you should stop. Looking back, I probably should have walked away much earlier.

When I really examined why I wanted to become an airline pilot, the reasons weren’t great.

One reason was to prove my ex wrong. He told me I’d never become a pilot — and I did.

Another reason was that I wanted to be a “pilot influencer” like the ones you see on social media.

I also liked the idea of meeting a pilot husband… or someone who owns a jet.

And of course, I wanted to travel and see the world.

Were those selfish reasons? Probably.
Were they the right reasons? Probably not.

So here I am, living with the consequences of a big mistake — and I take full responsibility.

Did I spend a lot of money? Yes.
Could I have invested that time and money into a different career? Absolutely.

The Emotional Reality

I think about how Kim Kardashian decided she wanted to be a lawyer, built a whole moment around it, wore the looks, did the studying, and made it part of her identity — only to hit a wall when the bar exam got real. And yeah… same.

Sometimes the idea of a dream is hotter than the reality. And maybe the hardest lesson of all: wanting something badly doesn’t always mean it’s meant for you.

I don’t think I failed aviation.

I think aviation showed me who I’m not.

So no, I’m not an airline pilot. Maybe I never will be. And that still scares me sometimes. But what scares me more is staying somewhere I don’t belong just because I already paid the price to be there.

Maybe one day I’ll fly again. Maybe I’ll own a plane. Maybe I’ll marry someone who does. Maybe I won’t.

But for the first time in a long time, I’m allowing myself to believe that my life doesn’t need a [cock] pit to be meaningful.

And that has to be enough.